Joker 3: The Crowned Prince of Crime
by EthanFlux
Summary: My interpretation of The Joker's Origins. In the aftermath of the botched Ace Chemicals heist, Jack must now lead the remnants of the Red Hood Gang into a new age of prosperity. Using all the knowledge if his mentor, his ambitions are high and Gotham City is now his playground. However, new players have set their pieces in motion and everyone is playing for keeps.
1. In the Footsteps

Joker

Story Three: The Crowned Prince of Crime

Chapter One: In the Footsteps

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Hillocks. I'd wish you a warm welcome, but this place is damn freezing."

"Not to worry; my family moved down from way up north. I know how to handle the cold." Smiled Hillocks, taking a seat.

"So, Martin-May I call you...?"

"Of course."

"Good. I have been urged to make you aware that the man whose position you are here to fill if successful did in fact possibly die." Yates Goodwin stopped on a dead note as he surveyed Hillocks' response. "Died right here. Well, don't really know for sure. Either dead or on the run. No matter. The point _**is**_ that working here is a dangerous thing to do and a job on these premises is not without risk. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Well then, you're an idiot for applying." Goodwin tapped his cigarette against the ashtray. "The last few guys I had in here all left out of fright, so being employed here must be a stupid idea. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Any job in Gotham City is good to have over living on the streets."

"Yes, but this isn't Wayne Enterprises, bartending at the Iceberg Lounge or even a drug deal in the park. Ace Chemicals means hanging around toxins that could cause internal damage if inhaled at best. All this at a lowered pay rate which, I have been insisted to tell you, has nothing to do with the eight hundred thousand dollars that was stolen last week." Goodwin eyed Hillocks assertively. "So when I tell you that you could end up with pieces of your head scattered across the room that police detectives are still trying to collect with a fine-toothed comb, you better well be prepared for that outcome."

Hillocks gulped. "When you put it that way...I think I'll still take the job."

Goodwin smiled. "Good. A man with a strong stomach is good around here."

"Helps when you're a doctor."

"Actually, yes; that qualification might come in handy. We originally wanted you to supervise the clean-up process before we officially shut down the plant, but since you have a PhD, we figured you could also sub as our Health Inspector to monitor the workers. That'll mean another half on top of your salary, if you're interested?"  
"Sounds like a good deal." They shook hands, Goodwin happy he didn't have to hire another stooge to take more money.

"Excellent! Feel free to acquaint yourself to the facility and we'll see you tomorrow."

Hillocks walked to the door but turned back around, confused. "Aren't you going to show me around?"  
"Oh, no." said the shocked Goodwin. "No, I prefer to limit breathing time outside this office to when I arrive in the morning and leave at night."

Hillocks returned to the facility, being careful to avoid the police tape cordoning off several catwalks. Several forensic specialists were swabbing sections of the walls and floor by a large broken vat, desperately attempting to find any clue as to who might have perished in this area. Not that they seemed at all hopeful. The only form of enthusiasm around the whole of Ace Chemicals was the workers placing bets on who died where: their gender, age, hair colour, height, weight. Even the shoes they were wearing. It was sickening; a subject that only the most deplorable of minds found in Gotham would linger on. Most of the population, in fact.

The saddest part of it all was the only person on the factory floor who could have won all the bets, provided all the details well...suspiciously well, couldn't say a word. Even if he were interested in being arrested in exchange for the entire sum of money split amongst the workers, he had a job to do. One that would provide an even more lucrative investment in the future. And all he had to do was his job. Provide a few medical exams, make some clean cash on the side and return back home with package in hand. Only trouble was, the package was too big for him to lug out of the facility without anyone noticing.

Hillocks made a beeline for the exit and found the nearest payphone. A few rings later and his contact was on the line. _"How was your first day at work?"_

"Just peachy, dear. Where's Jack?"

 _"Where do you think?"_ muttered Barlow with a sigh. _"You get a good look at the place?"  
_  
"Yeah; they've redecorated. Fresh coat of paint and brains." Replied Hillocks.

" _Touchy, considering those were our friends."  
_  
"'Accomplices' is still pushing the definition of our relationship."

" _Whatever. I'm in too much pain to talk about this."_ Sounds of anguish and movement could be heard through the receiver. _"I got another assignment from Jack the last time he was so kind as to grace me with his presence."  
_  
"Man's got a lot on his mind; Red gone, the gang in disarray on his shoulders. I don't blame him."

 _"We never asked him to keep the gang alive."_ Concluded Barlow before hanging up the phone.

Hillocks hesitated a moment. "Yeah, sure Barlow. Hey, you wanna hear my issues? I gotta roll a few barrels of dangerous toxins out of a heavily patrolled factory that you guys made it near impossible to accomplish thanks to your stunt. But nah, don't worry, I'm all good. I got this. I'm a master in the art of bullshitting my way through anything." He hung up the phone and trudged through the muck towards his car. "It's not like I could die or anything." At least he could stay in a separate apartment away from the hassle of a gang in turmoil.

* * *

Barlow hung up the phone and leaned on his crutches. Damn his leg and damn everything else. What was the point of all this fuss over chemicals? Why was Red Hood still alive when by all rights it should be dead? Jack was trying to resurrect an idea that no longer had any meaning. Almost everyone who believed in it were dead, and the rest so disillusioned that there was just...nothing. Nothing left but pain. There had been no mourning, no ceremony. The passing of Red, Hammond, Webber and Trent went as unnoticed as a soft breeze in the middle of an open field. After everything they had meant to each other. All that stuff Webber had said that night...

So much regret flowed silently through Barlow's heart. Of course he'd felt a bond with everyone. Why did he have to be so stoic and unemotional? He hated himself for it! That stupid bravado!

God, he had to stop this. It was too late to do anything about it anyway. And the regret...he would have to live with. They may have been his friends deep down, but he still had his family to think of and care for. And unless something drastic happened, if Jack couldn't justify all this resurgence, then he would simply walk out that door with his share of the cash. Even if it was the original twelfth of the total amount, he'd take it. He knew it would be his last out.

Barlow entered The Stacked Deck's empty casino and bar, save for one individual behind the bar. Zed was drowning in sorrow, which was in turn drowning in a sea of alcohol. The heist had hit him bad, and the bad experiences had also scarred him inside. He'd not been the same person since returning. Barlow limped to a stool at the bar and sat down.

"Care to share some of that?" he asked. Zed turned his bobbling head as though balancing an overflowing fishbowl on his shoulders. He considered Barlow momentarily before pouring him a shot glass of the brown liquid, proceeding then to down a mouthful of the stuff straight from the bottle.

"To the spirits in my hand..." he began, holding up his support, "...and the spirits of the damned." Zed choked back the tears, taking in more scotch. "I know what you're thinking, Barlow. I thought it too. Why us? Why did we live and not them? And you know what I figured out? There's no reason. No magical solution that saved our souls. Just. Blind. Luck." Zed was actually making more sense drunk than awake. It made for a somewhat comforting distraction. "Webber might have been here if I'd just taken a bullet for the team instead of him."

And just like that, the illusion was gone; Barlow's emotions came crashing down. He gulped down his shot, wishing he could get rid of his inhibitions and just lose himself to the booze. Not now, not here.

"He is here. They all are." Barlow mentioned hollowly. Luckily, Zed didn't notice.

"You talk to your family yet?" Zed asked. No, Barlow hadn't. He'd not gone home or made contact with his family at all. Part of him reckoned if was because he was trying to protect them in case the police should track him down, but the truth was that he couldn't bear to face them like he was. An emotional wreck, he was having enough time being here amongst others like him. Well, at least one other. Hillocks seemed to not care, Essex never did and Jack was just plain absent from this reality. You'd think his father figure had never existed.

Luckily, before Barlow even thought of an excuse for this question, the phone began to ring. Barlow reached over to answer but Zed held his hand back until the loud ringing ceased. He turned quizzically to Zed who shook his head slowly.

"Marybeth's been calling for days. She heard about what went down at Ace and put the pieces together." He explained solemnly. "But Jack's not taken her calls, not once. Last time, he just ignored me 'til I left."

He should say something, thought Barlow. Anything, just to let her know he was okay. But then again, who was he to talk?

"There's no need to involve her yet." Breathed Barlow half-heartedly.

The cellar door creaked open, thudding against the wall. A shaggy, scraggly-looking man emerged. Essex hadn't seen sunlight in days, not that this was not uncommon for him, but he seemed more bug-eyed than usual like he'd been hard at play for all this time. He staggered up to the bar, pulled a box of cereal out from behind the counter and poured it into a bowl, followed by some milk. He slurped and munched with great glee.

"It's like the library of Alexandria down there." He managed through mouthfuls. "Reams of blueprints and formulae. Stuff I'd never thought possible with chemical manipulation. Jack's a fine apprentice. He makes me look like an undergrad." He giggled.

Barlow and Zed took no comfort from any of this. They were waiting to hear more on how all this would actually help them get back on their feet. Essex noticed their indifference and his smile faded.

"Jack says you're to get recruiting." He stated to Barlow. "We need young blood...new blood. Can you handle that?"

Barlow nodded.

"Good. Good." Essex picked up his bowl and, holding it close to his chin, continued eating as he returned to the cellar. Zed looked back at Barlow who kept his eyes fixed on the door.

"Y'know, I might regret staying in the end."

* * *

The next day and it was work as usual. Except there was nothing familiar with the meaning of this assignment. Barlow now had to replace the people he'd worked with for almost two decades. For twenty years, they had formed a strong alliance and learned how to work around and compliment the others' skills. Now, injecting new life into the gang would mean disjointed working and unfamiliarity with the kind of ethics behind the gang. Although, those may not mean anything now under new management. Well, whatever new style Jack was going for, Barlow wanted to keep some of the old mandate alive and that meant harsh screening for any applicant. So far, no one had been close to successfully applying. Lots of ex-cons looking to make a fast buck for wetwork. In each and every one, he got the distinct impression that they looked forward to hurting people more than getting paid. Even had one rich guy try to get in on his knifing skills, said he wanted to take a real gamble at life. Barlow told him he'd be better off gambling on Penguin's turf.

Four bars and not a single honest criminal among them. Was that kind of duality a lost art form now? People in Gotham City seemed to wear their criminality on their lapels like a badge; even the crooked cops were almost free to do that...at least, once upon a time. Ever since that shadowy figure showed up, they'd grown accustomed to hiding their sly endeavours and cutting ties with the underworld. Maybe all the honest ones had been scared off by the shadow of the Bat? Well, if you had a weak constitution before, you'd better cash in and leave the game. Because the name of the game was fear and this new guy was using all the tricks you don't find in the book to instil it. Only the strong or stupid remained, and unfortunately, the majority were the latter. At least this way, it made it clearer of the kind of person Barlow was dealing with. Duality didn't exactly have the best name at the moment. He thought he knew Jack; his personality, his views and feelings towards the gang. Maybe he too had learned to play the game well and really was keeping the old regime alive?

Barlow was about ready to leave. He'd been at this for hours and his leg would be able to heal anywhere he decided to go anyway. However, as he was rising from his seat, a woman planted herself down opposite him and crossed her arms on the table. Barlow was, at first, confused as to why she kept staring at him with the kind of intensity you'd see from someone who knew they were doing something not entirely legal. Then it dawned on him that this was exactly what he was doing. "You're here..."

"For hire." She finished. "You advertised, I answered."

"Sorry, we're almost full up here." Barlow shook his head.

"You've been to four separate places and a few dark alleys and not made a single mark." She stated flatly. "You can't afford to let me slip by."

"Impressive." Barlow settled in his seat. "Considering the last few people I interviewed couldn't even remember which city they were in. Refreshing to see someone who can do their homework."

"Let me help you with yours. I'm Malaki." She reached out a hand which Barlow shook.

"Barlow. Surname?"

"That's how they say the Red Hood does it." They hesitated. "Don't worry, I'm just good at homework. I'm not the teacher's pet." A drink was placed in front of her and she took a sip. "Look, I know the kind of calibre you're looking for is hard to find, but if you go searching for them, you'll just find drunkards and morons. That kind of fodder for your regular crime syndicates. They need thugs, but you need sleuths. You need people who can do more than just punch and look tough. I can help you find some...should you need more like me."

"And just what _**are**_ you?" asked Barlow, leaning forward.

Malaki hesitated. She took a breath and also leaned in. "Marine, former. Served my country well, here and overseas."

"So...why should a marine seek out employ from a criminal group that infrequently robs your country?"

"Because my country robbed me." She stated darkly. "My unit was out on patrol and we took fire. Lost a few good people that day. When we got back, I was badly wounded and could expect a pension to support me on my way out with honourable mention." She shook her head. "Negligence. On my part, no less. And that of the other survivors. See, apparently someone high up thought they could save money handing out pensions to vets if they could come up with a good enough excuse. So they blamed the whole incident on us, got us back into a liveable condition before rolling us out the hospital door."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I wasn't off too bad at first. Had a relative in Central City who hooked me up for a while, but that was only temporary. I was on my way to visit a chiropractor when I came across one of my former team members on the street, homeless. His life had taken a bad turn; PTSD, drugs, divorce. His country had turned its back on him and so he turned his back on life. I couldn't bring myself to support the system that had ruined him...or the others. I can assure you, they came to worse ends than he did."

Barlow tapped his fingers against the table. "That's a sad story...but I don't hire people for bringing a tear to my eye."

"I don't expect you to. You can either choose me or not, it doesn't matter. I'll just take my skillset elsewhere." Malaki finished her drink and rose from her seat. "Hope the screening pans out for you." And with that, she walked towards the rear exit.

Barlow sat and watched her a moment before returning to his thoughts. It dawned on him pretty quickly just how silly he had just been. She was the perfect candidate for this job; she had the training, the will and the drive. And he'd just let her walk out of here like a fool. Leaving a few notes on the table, Barlow readied his crutches and moved as fast as he could to the rear exit, which was not helped by the crowd of insensitive skinheads in his way. He walked through the door into the alley, hoping that he hadn't lost her.

"You boys had better back off." He heard her voice from down the alley. She was being approached by two large brutes who had a distastefully hungry look in their eyes. One of them produced a pocket knife.

"Which part do you want first? Breast or thighs?" queried one of the thugs to his friend.

"I don't care, man. She looks tasty all over." The other replied. "Just as long as she's stripped down to the bone."

"Easy." Smiled the first one, brandishing his blade.

Barlow reached for his gun tucked into his belt but before he could even draw it, the danger was gone. In a flash, Malaki had knocked both men unconscious but not before providing them with enough pain to make them think twice before trying this again. It was over so quickly that Barlow swore they just toppled over. He hobbled over to Malaki as she dusted the filth from her hands.

"I expect a good share of each heist." She said. "I won't settle for anything unfair." Barlow nodded, still awestruck. "Good. First name's Sharon, by the way. Honoured to be a Red Hood."

* * *

"Is she single?" Zed asked Barlow in a low whisper.

"She's unavailable." Interrupted Malaki. "And she can hear you."

Zed blushed and stayed firmly behind the counter. After what Barlow had told him about what happened in the alley, he was going to make sure he didn't piss her off.

"I meant nothing by it." He attempted to sound confident.

"Sure."

"You'll get used to him." Intoned Barlow.

"Maybe, I just don't know if I'll get used to this place. It's a dump."

"She's seen a fair bit of action over the years. We had plans to renovate or move shop but...plans change."

"Fair." Malaki replied. It was true that The Stacked Deck hadn't seen the kind of numbers nor drawn the crowds it used to as a reasonable front, but it was in a gradually expanding destitute area that the city cared less and less about getting revenue from. At the very least, it had a roof. "So, where's the leader?"  
Barlow and Zed hesitated to answer.

"He's-"

"Doing business." Concluded Barlow. He didn't want her first impression of Jack to be creepy. "When he's done, we can set up a meeting."

"Cool. Well, I guess there's only one question left: where's the bathroom?"

"Downstairs one is out of order, but there is one upstairs and to the left." Zed answered.

"Thanks." Malaki began climbing the stairs.

"Oh, don't go into the office on your right." Said Barlow. Malaki looked back, curious, but decided to heed his advice and continued upstairs. He also didn't want her to see what Jack had left there from the night of the Ace Chemicals heist. Zed sighed heavily.

"She's smokin'." He smiled

"She'll kill you." Barlow smirked.

"Almost worth it."

Barlow shook his head just as the door swung open and a man walked in. There was a deathly silence as Barlow and Zed both gazed in wonder then in shock at who had just entered the bar. Shivering, unkempt and grubby all over, Hunt shuffled towards the bar. His eyes were bloodshot and clothes torn. The first thing he did was crack open a bottle of water and take a long drink before washing his face in it. He turned back around, soaking and out of breath.

"Hi. How's things?" he humbled.

Suddenly, Barlow dropped his crutches and hopped his way over to Hunt. He grabbed what was left of his collar and slammed him into the wall, swaying the shelves and all the bottles in them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Zed, who tried to hold back Barlow, but even with a broken leg, the man was built like an Ox.

"You backstabbing son of a bitch!" He growled. "You ratted us out!"

"I didn't! Why would I even-" Barlow pressed tighter against his throat.

"You always wanted Red out of the way. Always pushing for him to stand down! You were just waiting for the right opportunity to have him cut out of the picture!"

"And-And get me killed too?!" choked Hunt. "I was there with you!"

"All the more convincing a lie."

"Barlow, listen to yourself! Let him talk!"

"Where do you think he's been?!" argued Barlow. "He had to lay low so we wouldn't suspect him, and now he's come crawling back for his rightful place at the head of the table!"

"I-" Hunt gasped for air as the pressure from Barlow's arm was increasing. "I killed a cop!" Barlow's eyes widened. He released Hunt only a little so he could talk. "Eckhart. I shot him in the escape. I'm a cop killer! I had to lay low in case they found out it was me!"

Barlow reluctantly relinquished his hold on Hunt who was so weak, he slid to the floor. Barlow hopped back over to his stool while Zed helped Hunt to his feet.

"Are you okay?" Zed asked.

"I need...more water." Replied Hunt. Zed grabbed him another bottle. "Thanks." Hunt took another swig.

"Do they know it was you?" Barlow queried.

"The air in the plant was full of corrosive toxins and fumes. All DNA and fingerprint tests so far have been inconclusive. The entire scene was contaminated the moment it happened." Hunt drank some more. "I may have wanted Red's place, but believe me, not like this."

Barlow nodded his head once. For now, he'd believe Hunt. But only this one time.

"Are we all that's left?" Hunt asked.

"Hillocks is out doing a job. We got a new girl called Sharon and Essex is down in the cellar with Jack." Explained Zed.

"Jack?" choked Hunt. "Jack's still here?"

"Yeah. And he's in charge too." Barlow stated heavily, shooting Hunt a look that read 'Is that a problem?'

"Well, good for him." He drank some more. "Then it seems we're still on the clock." Hunt rose from his seat and began walking towards the staircase. "I know how much he meant to Red. I only wish he knew how much he meant to us."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" suggested Barlow. Hunt turned back to him quizzically. "Just follow the stench."

* * *

 **YESTERDAY**

Hunt waited, jittering in his seat. His contact had told him to meet him outside the café, but Hunt hadn't ordered anything yet and he suspected that the waitress was becoming suspicious of his intentions. He didn't exactly look his best, more like a drug addict coming down from his high. All this time in hiding had made him paranoid. Yes, he'd shot a cop. But it's not like it was anyone special. Heck, it might have benefited the police department in the long run.

Despite his over-observation of the area, he didn't notice the mountain of a man approach the table and sit next to him. Hunt froze, hoping to hell this was actually his contact and not just some random stranger who figured he needed some company over a java. His features were obscured by large dark lenses but something about him looked familiar.

"Flass?" asked Hunt.

"So...you remember me." Flass removed his sunglasses and revealing his face. "I certainly remember you. That night at the electronics store. You kicked me while I was down, or so I was told. Your gang was a right pain in my arse, let me tell you."

"Look, I-I don't want any trouble-" Hunt stammered. "We were both just doing our jobs."

Flass smirked. "Yeah, jobs. Look, it's all in the past and right now, my job isn't killing you, as much as I wish it could be. But at this moment, it would be neither in my interest nor the Commissioner's to have a death on our hands." Flass leaned back in his chair. "Suffice it to say, this is your lucky day."

"How?"

"Turns out, Eckhart wasn't exactly playing by the rules. He was trying to get money from too many pockets. A lot of crossed ambitions he thought he could keep tangling and get away with it. So, icing him was about the smartest thing you could have done. Made everybody happy."

Hunt was relieved. The blood started flowing back into him, warming up his freezing body. "Does this mean you can help me take the gang?"

"Are you kidding? Haven't you read the papers?" scoffed Flass incredulously. "The D.A. and my new partner are trying to rat out corruption in the police department. And that Bat freak is flying around, giving them more evidence than they could ever find even with a full blown investigation. Internal Affairs is keeping a close eye on everything which is why all you get from me is a free latte." The waitress arrived at that moment and placed a coffee to go on the table. "Courtesy of Commissioner Loeb and his friend in higher places. They're big on helping the hopeless. Now take it and go."

Hunt sat still. He let what was just said wash over him. It seemed that he was on his own for now. Hunt stood and turned back to Flass. "I'll get Red Hood. Whatever is left, it's mine. I promise that."

* * *

 **TWO DAYS LATER**

...How?

Just how was he going to pull it off? He can't sneak them out the back door. He can't roll them out the front either. And too many cops around to hire anyone out to steal it. For the last two days, Hillocks had been figuring out everyone's routine, carefully planning all possible chances he'd have to snag a drum or two for Jack, but it just wasn't going well. Everyone was either on the storage floor or in between it and any possible route out. He had nothing to bribe anyone with, no reason to even be touching the toxins. All of these impossible obstacles in his way just pissed Hillocks off. If Jack wanted these damn toxins, then he could come down here himself, get a job and steal them all by his lonesome and see just how better he fared. All he could do now was stand here and wait because, at the end of the day, all the barrels would be gone. Today, as it turned out, was the day when every compound produced within the factory's walls would be transported to a disposal facility and destroyed. Even now, they were loading all the stuff onto trucks and sending them on their way.

Hillocks just knew he'd be blamed for this. But honestly, what was he supposed to do? Watch from the catwalks as his first actual mission for the gang resulted in failure. Well, if it was gonna go down like this, he might as well grab a cup of tea. He made his way to the cafeteria and boiled himself a jug. It was deserted except for a couple of loaders taking a break, eating what looked like something you'd expect to come out of the machines on the factory floor. Sure, it didn't look pleasant, but don't let that fool you. It still tasted like shit. Which is why Hillocks made himself a sandwich every day. You'd probably find mould in that. At least something that can lay eggs in your digestive tract that'll pop out of you in your sleep and eat something vital. It just so happened that these two were talking about something else that Hillocks took very little interest in: football. But suddenly, one of them changed the subject. He'd caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall and very nearly spat out his mouthful of grub, although that is what he should be doing anyway.

"Aww man, finish up. Finish up." He heckled his friend.

"Wha? What's with all the buzz?"

"Manager wants to make a speech, wants everyone out front. Nobody's allowed to skip it."

"Shit, why's he gotta run his mouth some more? Dude likes the sound of his own voice too much."

"You tell him that."

"Are you kiddin'? This is the best job I could get below minimum wage, and I already tried everywhere else."

They left the room without even noticing Hillocks at all. Only one thought went through his head: 'Yates Goodwin, I want to have your babies'. With a joyful fist pump, Hillocks made his way cautiously towards the storage area. He watched as people headed off to the final speech. After a while, he stopped trying to be stealthy and just continued on his way. Nobody seemed to care nor notice that he wasn't joining them outside, which almost hurt his feelings somewhat.

There were still a dozen vats remaining and absolutely no one to stop him. He slowly rolled the first barrel onto its side and rolled it down the corridors towards the carpark. Empty. Completely unguarded. He was almost skipping with excitement when he arrived next to his Ute and left his first catch behind it. The sound of the dullest speech of the century could be barely made out around the other side of the compound, but at least it sounded like it would take about as long. Hillocks returned and, just like before, rolled his second barrel back to the car. It was so simple. So easy. It was difficult not to sing. Finally, he had the toxins outside the building and no one suspected a thing. Hillocks high-fived himself. All he had to do was load the chemicals onto the back of his Ute and...

Crap. He tried with all his might. He pulled and grunted and strained until he was red all over but there was no lifting. They were either too heavy or he was too weak.

"Damn it! Don't do this to me!" Hillocks grunted, trying desperately to unleash some kind of inner strength. "Fate, this is all your fault! You did this to mock me!" His plan was unravelling faster than a curtain on Cat Island. Even now, he could hear the rounding up applause. Someone would soon round that corner and spot him and he knew that there was no going back from there. But his only other option was to roll the barrels back to certain destruction. Which could be very well where he headed after returning to Jack in failure. He was dead either way. "Come on, please!" he cried desperately.

"Hey, you." Called a voice from across the carpark. Hillocks sighed; he had been caught. He straightened up to see it was the two loaders from the cafeteria, probably heading in through this entrance to return their lunch break quicker. They looked from Hillocks to the barrels and back again with a curious expression shared between them. "What are you doing?"

"I-I'm doing work for the Manager." Hillocks blurted out. "Goodwin asked me to take these barrels to the disposal facility myself. He doesn't want to pay transport fees for just two barrels." This all felt like a total blur. It kept spilling from his mouth and there was nothing he could do to stop. When he'd eventually finished saying this, the two loaders again looked between Hillocks and the barrels and then back again. Surely this would never-

"You need some help loading up?" one asked.

"Seri-Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks!" Hillocks smiled and as offered, the two men loaded the barrels onto the back of his Ute. After some criticism of the Manager's cheapskate manner and a handshake, Hillocks was driving away with two stolen vats of dangerous toxins. He still had no idea how he'd managed to pull it off, but one thing was for sure: no one would ever believe it.

* * *

Hillocks wore that shit-eating grin all the way back to The Stacked Deck. He showed it off to Barlow when he pulled up outside the joint then kept flashing it at Zed and Hunt as they wheeled the toxins inside.

"There's just no denying it now." He smirked. "I am a true master of the art of deception. I am a god."

"All hail." Muttered Barlow sarcastically.

"What is this stuff exactly?" asked Malaki, leaning against the bar. "It doesn't look stable."

"Of course it's not stable!" chimed Essex, emerging to help Zed and Hunt bring it downstairs. "It's exciting!"

"It's heavy." Moaned Zed.

"It's the future of Red Hood." The voice startled them all. They turned around to see him stride up the stairs and into the bar. For the first time in days, most of the gang got their first look at Jack. He seemed over-tired yet somewhat inspired. Despite the lack of sleep, new life was bursting through him. He gazed upon the vats with hope and ambition, something which was now shared with the rest of his crew. "Hillocks, you've done a good job and more for us than you know."

"Shucks...boss." replied Hillocks, proud of himself.

Jack turned to their newest member. "Malaki, welcome aboard. You've joined us at a very important moment. When I saw the potential of these chemicals, I knew that they would change the face of Red Hood forever. I have great plans; tools we can use to instil the kind of fear into the hearts of Gothamites greater than the Batman ever could! No one would dare interfere with us, not even him. But the flying rodent isn't our end-goal. There will be more later. I don't want to spoil the surprise. Until then, it's business as usual." He straightened himself up. "I'm back, boys. And I'll be with you every step of the way."

A brief silence fell over The Stacked Deck. Jack waited patiently, his eyes closed. Slowly, what he was waiting for rose up faintly. One by one, the gang began clapping, building into applause. His words had done their job. For almost a week now, the Red Hood had been divided and crumbling, but he had brought new hope and raised morale. They were his now. Truly his. Jack opened his eyes directly at Hunt. He too was applauding, lighter than the others. He nodded his head at his new leader and Jack gave him an imposing bow.

"Now go on, get outta here!" Jack smiled at the gang. "Tomorrow we plan for our next heist!"

The group began to gather their things. Barlow approached Jack.

"Great work. Red would be proud of you." He whispered before heading out the door along with the others. But as they thinned out, Jack noticed someone unmoving in the corner. She slow-clapped from her perch and waited for Jack to focus his attention in her direction. It was Marybeth and she didn't look pleased.

"You coming, Jack?" asked Essex from the cellar stairs.

"I'll be a while, Ess. You start without me." Jack replied. Once Essex had disappeared below, Jack walked towards his girlfriend.

"So...you find the time to play with your toys downstairs, you find the time to make speeches...but you can't find the time to pick up the phone and talk to me." She seemed nearly in tears.

"I had work to do." He said. "The gang would be gone without me."

"And in all that time, you didn't think that you should take some time for yourself?" she asked. "I know what happened. I know Red is gone."

"There was no use in mourning."

"For god's sake, Jack! He was my friend too!" she snapped. "Don't think I don't know how you feel!"

"If I didn't act, then nothing would be left!" returned Jack.

"There doesn't need to be, Jack! This gang was on the out anyway, and now you're trying to keep it alive. Don't you see? This isn't you 'working'. This is your mourning. You're doing this for Red, not yourself!"

"You have no idea why I'm doing this." Hissed Jack. "This is for nobody but me. I brought us together. Red's death was a stepping stone, but you would have just gotten in the way!"

Slap!

It was a shocking blow, but what was even more surprising was the sensation that Jack felt from it. There was pain...but there was more. It felt...good. Deep down, coursing through him, growing warmer, the slap had awakened a feeling within him. He stepped closer to Marybeth. "Hit me again." He said in a low, calm voice. With tears coursing down her face, she obliged.

Slap!

The kiss she got in return was as much a surprise as the slap had been. At first, she was so angry she wanted to hurt him so badly. But the feeling diminished slowly. If she could hurt him and have her way with him upstairs at the same time...well, that was fine by her.

That night, Jack experienced pain and pleasure; the yin and yang. Scratches and bruising dotted his body. Marybeth seemed possessed, and Jack couldn't care less. He didn't know what it was that he was truly interested in: her or the pain she could inflict upon him. Did this mean anyone could make him feel this way? Whatever it was, it didn't worry him. In time, he would be able to explore it to an even greater extent. His plans would involve a great deal of self-discovery and so far, he was liking everything he found.

* * *

 **It feels good to be back! Hard to believe, eh? You all thought I was gone. Well...I was for a little while there. There was a lot I had to focus on and a lot of movement in my life. There may be something a lot bigger than this FanFiction that may come out for audiences around the globe in the coming years, so I might let you all know how that pans out, but recently I took a break and got inspired to tackle this project again. It's been fun revisiting all my old ideas and utilising what I've learned into creating a much broader plot and better sequences of events to culminate in the ultimate birth of The Joker! When and who it will happen to is still a mystery.**

 **Suffice it to say that, barring any great need to return to my other work, I'm here to continue this story. And I would like to thank my ongoing supporters who have kept me uplifted and inspired to come back: TheJokerMan (thanks for all the messages and words of advice), Loki son of Laufey, Jason Todd (hope this isn't a foreshadowing), doggy bye, Keywee and MintierBadger. Most of you even reviewing and favourite-ing the story before its first chapter! You have no idea how much that warmed my heart to see and I hope you all enjoyed the first instalment of the new story. Thank you all so much for being so patient and hopefully, I can finish this series off without any more severe time jumps. I'll see you all next time!**


	2. Unconventional Turf War

Joker

Story Three: Cards On The Table

Chapter Two: Unconventional Turf War

* * *

 **I apologise for how late this second chapter is. Rather than waste time making excuses, I'll just thank _Ikol Ichigorath_ , _TheJokerMan_ , _Jason Todd_ , and _Keywee_ for your feedback and support. Now, I'll launch into the next chapter.**

* * *

"This is Vicki Vale reporting for Gotham City News. It has been over a year since the first appearance of the Batman in our crime-riddled streets. What was once the playground for some of the most infamous crime figures of modern time, is slowly being torn down by what many citizens call a miracle. But there are those who would rather label this apparition of the night as a menace: a bastardisation of the law and those who enforce it. We have seen how well the police have protected our city in the past, so it is no surprise that this former view of the Batman is not shared amongst the greater population, who see the extreme measures taken by the vigilante as necessary to combat crime. But we are not here to argue semantics, my segment is not designed to analyse opinion of our new Dark Knight, but to look into his origins. To discover where he came from, by looking back into the past to decipher his path of crime-fighting, in order to predict where he will strike next. Perhaps if we understand him well enough, we will know who to thank for keeping these streets, our citizens, our way of life safe."

Vicki Vale, maroon hair swaying at shoulder-length in the breeze, stood stoic outside the giant factory at ten-past-seven in the morning. She knew her producers had warned her about making this report. 'No one wants to hear that!' they argued. 'People are eating up the opinion pieces! Milk the ratings while we can!' No. This was her fifteen minutes, and she cared about what was beneath the surface. Jack was more than welcome to interview the high-flyers still gracing the Gotham social elite to squeeze more B.S. philosophising over the effect the Batman had on Gotham, but she wanted to know just one thing: why? Why was he doing this, whoever he was beneath the mask? And what drew him to have his symbol for justice be something as dark and disgusting as a flying rodent of the night?

"Behind me stands one of the most recent places where the Batman was sighted by law enforcement during a violent shootout. None of the criminals who took part could provide a description, let alone be identified, as all met a grizzly end by police. A major criticism of modern law enforcement is their lean towards escalation tactics to fight against crime, leading to the most recent destruction of a hostel in Burnley by the GDPD's Special Weapons Unit led by Lieutenant Branden in the pursuit of Batman."

She paused for effect.

"This cycle has led to gangs importing and fashioning better weaponry and equipment to use against law enforcement officers to continue their reign of terror over the city. But while most will justify this for the sake of fighting fire with fire, even our new vigilante has countered this argument with tactics of his own."

The footage played from the CCTV camera inside Ace Chemicals. It had taken a lot of digging, and sighs over flirting glances, to get this. Honestly, it surprised her, as much as it should surprise everyone watching.

"As you can see, the Batman is not hurting the infamous criminal known only as "Red Hood" but is in fact trying to help him. To keep him alive. It is only when this bullet fired from a police-issue revolver strikes close to the Bat, that he becomes unable to keep his grip."

She waited for the footage to finish its slow-motion playback of the event, the sparks as the bullet hit steel, and the fall of the Red Hood out of view. It was clear why the cops didn't want civilians seeing this.

"The Red Hood was never recovered, lost to the inner workings of the disgusting organ that was Ace Chemicals, now closed for good. Capturing this one man would have seen a huge thread in the tapestry of police corruption and criminal political sway be unravelled over this city, exposing everyone in a position of power for who they are. The Batman knew this better than anyone, and after seeing this footage, I for one am less scared by his nightmarish appearance than I am of the reckless abandon, one might even say calculated oversight—" she came up with that line herself "—that police have to apprehending key links in their investigations. We have seen a path blazed by Batman that has brought down Commissioner Loeb and put a huge thorn in the side of crime boss Carmine Falcone, as well as kickstarting an internal investigation into the clearly corrupt police force. He knows this city well, and he knows where to strike. He clearly has lived here his whole life and wants us all to be well and whole again."

Vicki glanced down at her watch. Her fifteen minutes was almost up.

"He will certainly be back again. Until next time, I have been Vicki Vale reporting live from the ground here in Gotham, where the war against crime is being won."

A little hopeful, she knew, but it was better than spewing rhetoric back and forth between old men in a newsroom. She was here amongst the city, and that's what mattered most.

* * *

What utter nonsense! What the hell was she thinking? That wasn't hard-hitting at all! Sure, Vicki had found some pretty damning tape about a little police negligence, but it was life or death. Having some freak dressed in a gimp suit doesn't exactly mean you're innocent in all this either. At least he was pulling in all the heavy-hitters as guest stars. Vicki could go rummaging through the trash, but it was here in the studio where the experts can analyse just how much this Batman was screwing around with the natural order, and how likely it was to blow up in his face, taking some of the city with him.

"Thank you for that report, Vicki. You're back with me in the studio, Jack Ryder, for Gotham City News: the only news broadcaster that digs deep into Gotham's latest developments." Guess I'll have to introduce myself, thank you _Miss Vale_. Maybe you should make like a curtain and shut up. "This morning, I am joined by the new GCPD Commissioner, Peter Grogan. It's a pleasure having you on m—our show."

"It's my pleasure." nodded Grogan. Ryder couldn't help but notice beads of sweat already forming on the Commissioner's forehead. He seemed flustered, agitated to be here, his thoughts wandering elsewhere. This man was too stressed out to be on national TV, thought Ryder.

"So, your predecessor has resigned amidst this flurry of corruption charges aimed at him from Internal Affairs, now his responsibilities rest on your shoulders. How do you feel?"

"It's incredible, Jack." Grogan responded, clearly thinking about how stupid a question that was to ask. He'd been hurled into office at late notice, and knew the heat was coming for him on all sides. "I am honoured to be in this position. Yes, the work is hard, but the benefits of having clean streets, good cops, and one of the best cities in the United States is my ultimate goal and I intend to make it so."

"You're certainly driven, Commissioner." ' _Jeez, calm down Grogan. You're not running for Mayor_.' "So I gather from your answer that you're completely behind the I.A. investigation into police corruption. Does that diminish your faith in the GCPD's ability to serve the public?"

Grogan shot Ryder a nasty look. "Of course not. We have good men—and women of course—who would never take a cent, and it's people like them we're looking to make this city great."

"Inspirational." Ryder was growing bored of the high and mighty nonsense being spouted. Seemed nothing much had changed after the swapping of hands. "As for the Batman situation, how are the police going to respond to this vigilante, under your command? Mayor Klass only last week announced the impromptu formation of the Vigilante Task Force headed by Captain Gordon on Nightime. Shall we play a clip?"

The footage played over the monitors, the Mayor, Gordon, and a third, balding man with large round spectacles speaking.

"But the form of his disguise suggests anything but utilitarian motive." explained the psychiatrist confidently. "Just look at the image he's chosen—the iconography of a hideous, filthy night-creature like the bat. Clearly, he exults in the dark power of this terrifying apparition to—"

"Oh, for pity's sake!" cut in Gordon, leaning forward into the fray. "He just wants to scare the pants off criminals!"

The scene had a noticeable cut to the Mayor, missing footage that wasn't important to the segment. Or rather, in Ryder's point of view, could be damaging to public morale. He knew they didn't need to be reminded of that.

"Captain Gordon here is a very pragmatic no-nonsense cop, and he gets results. Which is why I am now pleased to announce the formation of a new top-priority Vigilante Task Force to put a stop to this man-bat once and for all with Captain Gordon here as its commander."

Gordon appeared floored by the announcement. Even the newsreader was taken aback. "Well, this **_is_** news, Mr. Mayor," he began gradually, "and I must say, you've certainly chosen a very public forum in which to deliver your announcement."

"On the other hand, Jud," continued Klass, "this 'psychological profile' business may also have some merits. Indeed, I don't mind saying I'm impressed by Dr. Strange's insight, since it is also my opinion that this Batman is some sort of dark and deranged power freak." The clip concluded.

"That was Jud Fellows interviewing the Mayor, Captain Gordon and Dr. Hugo Strange." Ryder brought the conversation back on track. "Are you as driven as the Mayor appears to be to bring this Batman to justice?"

"Absolutely." Grogan asserted. "While it is true that the Batman has played a part in our ongoing investigations, he can only do no good from here on. Who is to say that more vigilantes won't be inspired by his antics? We may see even more violence on our streets, civilians killed because a quote- ** _good-samaritan_** -unquote cannot properly deal with the situation?"

"Unlike the police department?"

"Ye—Yes, exactly." Grogan was fuming that he'd walked into that trap. Ryder hid his satisfied smile deep within.

"Well, thank you for clarifying that. I'm Jack Ryder for Gotham City News, and with me Commissioner Grogan, thanks for your time." Grogan nodded and began to rise. He wasn't going to stick around until the transition out, but Jack didn't care, the piece was over. "Coming up after the break: the Thanksgiving Massacre. How five Irish hitmen met a bloody end. Don't go away, we'll be right back." As the overture played, Jack Ryder reclined back in his comfy chair, staring at the lights. _You see, Vicki? '_ ** _That's_** _how you get noticed around here_.'

* * *

"How may I help you today, sir?"

"I'd like to open deposit box Five-One-Three." Zed told the clerk who typed the information into the computer.

"Your keycard and password?" she enquired. Zed felt through his pockets, but was unable to produce anything of value. He laughed awkwardly at the clerk, who regarded him with petulance.

"I, uh…don't seem to have it on me. I usually keep it with my password."

The clerk sighed. "I'm sorry sir, but with no keycard or password, I can't let you in."

"Look, er, Cathy," Zed floundered, "just call over your supervisor. He knows me."

" ** _She_** is on lunch break."

"Oh." Zed began to get agitated. "Please, I just need to get in there, get something out, and I'm gone. Won't take a minute." He watched as she reached under her desk. "You're getting the keys? Yes! Thank you so much." Her hand returned with nothing. "What was that?"

A shadow fell over Zed. "Is there anything wrong, Cathy?" asked the heavy-built security guard. His badge, which read Terry, stuck out so far on his chest it almost pricked Zed in the eye.

"Please escort this gentleman off the premises, quietly." Cathy smiled.

Zed felt the guard's heavy hands clasp him on both shoulders before moving him effortlessly towards the back of the room. Heading through the Personnel Only door, the guard finally relinquished his grip. "Terry?"

"It was either that or Corey. Do I look like a Corey to you?" asked the guard as they arrived at the janitor's closet.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you, Jean." Zed went to shake his hand, but a black bag was handed to him instead.

"Name's Chuckles for this heist. Get in, get changed, do your thing." Jean pushed Zed inside.

"What's my name again?" asked the man in the closet.

"Fiddler."

"Oh come o—" Zed was cut off by the door closing on his face.

Jean stood guard by the door, which was lucky as two guards rounded the bend up the corridor and walked straight up to him.

"Ready for work, boys?" Jean enquired.

"I will be once I've solved this crossword and the prize is all mine!" replied Henry, the oldest of the pair, brandishing the Gazette. 'Black Menace brings Police Unrest' read the headline. Jean was sick and tired of hearing about the Batman, but more importantly, he couldn't help but laugh at the unfortunate racial subtext that title held. Someone would get fired for that.

"Just make sure Mark gets a slice of that prize, he married you for a reason." Henry laughed at the pun as he broke away and entered the cafeteria. Jean nodded at the other guard. "See you out front soon Paul."

"Don't take too long, Jerry." airily replied Paul as he walked through the door to the bank.

" ** _Terry_**." hissed the man actually called Jean. Zed emerged from the closet, wearing a black jumpsuit and a mask resting on top of his head. "Power box is on the roof. Cut that, no cops, no fuss. Tools are in the bag." Jean instructed, taking out his own costume.

"You really don't like small talk, do you?"

"Lost a friend to small talk. Sniper shot in the dark, and all it took for that mark was a crack about my hair. Now move." Jean nudged Zed down the corridor while he got changed in the closet as well. Once done, he hurried to the rear entrance and propped open the door. Two more joined his band of thieves, also wearing masks like him: clown faces. "Naught, Sly."

"I feel like this is some sort of practical joke." complained Hunt, or 'Sly' as was chosen for him. "Gotham National in broad daylight, and I've never worked with either of you before."

"Get used to it, or I'll feed you to the lions." smirked Klein, also known as 'Naughty'. She passed a weapon to Jean.

"We don't have any lions."

"Boy, you must be a laugh riot at the Christmas Party." Klein giggled to herself, but Jean signalled them to keep quiet.

"There's four guards in the security room and another in the cafeteria. We take them out, wait for the signal from Zed, then our backup arrives to secure hostages in the main hall. Got it?" Klein nodded and hurried off towards the security office, but Hunt only took a step closer to Jean.

"Who made you think you give the orders around here?" asked Hunt in a slow mocking tone.

"What made you think you're anything special?" retorted Jean, pumping his shotgun. There was no time for this, he had a job to do. So when he found Henry happily drinking a cappuccino, distracted by the crossword, Jean wasted no time knocking him out with the butt of his gun. "One hell of a caffeine hit."

After zip-locking the unconscious guard, Jean peeked into the main hall. The tellers were all at work, still drowsy from the early morning wake-up. A dozen or more patrons waited on chairs or conducted business, unaware of what would be walking through those front doors in a matter of seconds.

"Tightrope to Safety Net, come in." Jean called over the radio.

 _"This is safety net, ready for the jump."_ responded "Downer".

"I count seventeen animals in the petting zoo. Nine kiddies at the stalls, one angry parent on patrol." Jean eyed Paul menacingly. Suddenly, the lights went out.

 _"Power's out in the big top."_ reported Zed.

"Let's put on a show." Jean glanced back up after holstering his radio, but Paul had vanished. It was his job to make sure the guards weren't on patrol, and this wouldn't be a great first impression on the gang if he slipped up now. He slipped through the door as patrons and staff alike swivelled their heads in worry at the loss of power. Before he could start a proper search, he saw the last two members of the heist approach the entrance.

They swung the double doors open, brandishing their pump-action shotguns so everyone could see. One shot into the ceiling, and the screaming was over in a brief moment.

"Everyone on the floor against the wall. Nobody needs to get hurt—" Barlow's speech was cut short by a gunshot that shattered the wall lamp behind his head. He pulled Malaki down to the floor, taking cover behind a desk. Another shot rang out, and Jean saw its origin.

"You should have thought twice before trying to rob my bank!" yelled Paul, taking a third unnecessary shot.

"Who is this guy?" Malaki couldn't believe her luck. First out, barely through the door, and already someone was shooting at them. Maybe this gang was cursed.

"You both better come out, or there won't be much left for the cops to fi—" began Paul, but the next noise he made was the sound of his body hitting the floor. Barlow and Malaki peered around the desk at their saviour.

"What were you thinking, man?!" shouted Jean. "Did you think this was Die Hard?! Damn, you're a bad security guard!" He looked around at the civilians, all bemused by his loud display. "You heard what he said! Against the wall!"

The three corralled their hostages against the wall, making sure nobody was unaccounted for. Hunt and Klein helped drag the security guards in too, keeping them separated from the other civilians, as well as spaced out between themselves. It took up so much of their concentration that they barely noticed the sound of sirens wailing in the distance.

"Cops?!" exclaimed Barlow. Malaki checked the entrance.

"Down the street, heading this way. What should we do, Weepy?" she asked Barlow.

"How the hell did they know we were here?" Right on cue, Zed burst into the bank hall wheezing.

"Ze—Uh, Weepy." he stumbled. "Power box was a trap. New Wayne Enterprises security system goes off in the event of direct tampering. The cops are—"

"I know." Barlow pursed his lips. This was going to be a really bad day.

* * *

This assignment was a joke, but she had to run with it. Her fifteen minutes were done for the day, and now it was up to the whim of the executives what story she cover next. But who cares about Bruce Wayne's opinion on anything but supermodels, fast cars, and whatever gadget or fancy alcohol he's willing to promote? Vicki doubted the billionaire playboy had any strong opinions on crime rates, the economy, or a man dressed in black leather flying through Gotham's skies. He'd been back in town for over a year, but that story fizzled out months in, and then Batman showed up and stole every headline. At the very least she could stare at him a while during the interview, he was certainly easier on the eyes than any of the studio guests. Especially that Strange fellow, and the Mayor kept eyeing her up backstage…literally and figuratively. Wasn't he married?

 ** _ZOOM!_** Three police cars and a van cut Vicki's train of thought. They were heading down the same road she about to turn on to get to Wayne Enterprises. She thought a moment, churning over a decision in her own mind. Ultimately, she figured the producers would want her to chase after the police vehicles and cover their action rather than do a snooze-fest of an interview. "Some other time, Mr. Wayne."

Vicki made a sharp left-hand turn and followed the cops. It wasn't long before she was forced to stop the van outside the National Gotham Bank, immediately seeing three armed gunmen through the front doors. The police had set up a cordon, blocking off the public. But the most important detail: no other news station had arrived on the scene yet. She woke up her cameraman in the rear of the van and prepared to go on the air.

"This is Vicki Vale, live in the heart of Gotham's Diamond District. I apologise for interrupting what I'm sure was to be a stirring finale to Jack Ryder's Cooking Challenge," _'That outta piss him off.'_ , thought Vicki, "but moments ago, police arrived at the National Gotham Bank where a robbery is currently taking place. From the looks of things, hostages have been taken and are being held securely by the criminals. No word as of yet whether the assailants are known to police or affiliated with any active gangs or mobs in the city, but for now, all that can be done is to wait until demands are made. With our brand new Commissioner Grogan under immense pressure to prove that police are more than up to the challenge, a swift and casualty-free solution to this situation would be a great positive boon to his stretched credibility. I will continue to cover the siege as developments arise."

Jack leaned forward on the edge of his bed, watching the news report. Marybeth stirred behind him and lazily slapped his back. "Come back to bed." she moaned as he buttoned up a shirt.

"Your daddy's cops have made matters complicated." explained Jack. "Honestly, you'd think I was paying him to put me out of business."

"Ugh, what do I have to do to get five minutes more of you here next to me?" she asked, scratching her messy mane of hair.

"Be as desperate as you were last night." smirked Jack, leaving the bedroom. Jack walked downstairs, meeting Essex along the way who seemed anxious, quite the contrary to his usual bubbly self.

"Jack! You should have helped me last night! We're running out of opportunities!" he yelped.

"I can only please one partner at a time, Ess." Jack sighed. "You'll just have to wait your turn."

"I can't reproduce that substance and stabilise it for our needs on my own! I need extra hands!"

"You'll get them!" Jack snapped, pushing Essex's twiddling fingers away from his face. "But my hands are sometimes going to be busy elsewhere, keeping investments lucrative. You look tired. Go back downstairs and do something else productive with your hands…like counting sheep or something."

Essex slumped back down into the basement as Jack picked up the phone and dialled. On the other end of the line, a phone was taken to Commissioner Grogan, standing out in front of the National Gotham Bank. It was not the most ideal situation for him to be in. To be honest, he would rather be back at his desk, giving orders across the radio, monitoring the robbery from as far away as possible. But for the sake of image, he'd resigned himself to the fact that being here in person could only do his popularity good. After that stint on Ryder's ridiculous show, he could regain some traction on that front.

"Commissioner! Commissioner!" called a female reporter Grogan could barely recall the name of. "Care to comment on just what steps are being taken to ensure the hostage's safety?"

"I'd love to give a full interview, Miss…?"

"Vale, Vicki Vale."

"Miss Vale, but you and I both know that broadcasting any pertinent information about our plans to end this siege would be very stupid." he answered. "Rest assured, we have everything under control." Grogan took the phone, knowing there was only one person who knew about this private line. "Marybeth, honey? What's the matter?"

 _"Oh daddy dearest, how I miss you so."_ mocked Jack. _"Now that you're Commissioner, does that mean I can get a pony?"_

"What do you want, Jack? Red's gone, I'm not held by Hood anymore."

 _"Absolutely correct, although you_ ** _are_** _held by me."_ Jack retorted. _"Don't think the info Red had on you died with him. Besides, if you stay on the payroll, I'm sure I can see fit to double that number. Maybe even help you out with that whole confidence issue."_

Grogan pursed his lips. He had to admit he could use all the help he could get, and a little slush fund on the side might come in handy should he need to suddenly disappear. "What did you have in mind?"

 _"My boys in the bank, they get out. We give you a couple a' deadbeats you stick up for the crime. A bit of money lost through purchases and offshore accounts. Bingo-bango, another day's work for the illustrious Commissioner Grogan. So, what do ya think? We got ourselves a deal?"_

"It's tempting."

 _"We both know you're screwed either way, but you'd rather be screwed and have money, I know. So don't keep us in suspense and just say yes."_

"…Okay. I'll sort this out."

 _"Excellent. Well, must dash. Take care, love ya! Mwah!"_ Jack hung up, whistling his way downstairs. Grogan grumbled as he pocketed the phone. He hesitated to describe Jack as such, but at least he had something that resembled an ally to face off the lions in the colosseum with. Speaking of lions, a black van with the Special Weapons Unit logo on the side pulled up nearby. Out hopped Lieutenant Branden and his unit, the leader making a direct line for Commissioner Grogan who couldn't believe his eyes. Of all the snakes not immediately being investigated by Internal Affairs, it had to be him.

"Looks like you've got quite the situation here, Grogie." sneered Branden. "Why don't you take a seat, my boys'll make this swift and painless."

"Shame you couldn't make it easy on yourself." Grogan tried to hide his contempt from the cameras. "How does someone like you side-step prosecution?"

"Friends in high places. You have no idea how much a name still means around here. Look, I know things went sideways with the family businesses butting heads and all, but lets not turn this scene into a war."

"Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing." Grogan took a step forward, his small frame attempting intimidation. "You have your allegiances, I have mine. And right now, you're in the public circus, which puts you under my command. Got the picture?"

Branden looked at the reporters circling the barricades, all trying to get a lead in on the scoop. There wasn't much he could do for his employers out in the open like this. "Yeah, I understand." He turned back to his squad. "Make camp, lads. We're awaiting orders."

Grogan let out a long sigh. This day was going to be worse than he had originally thought.

* * *

Three bags sat stuffed with cash on the teller desks. Despite the police situation, Barlow felt there was no reason to not rob the bank regardless, and so managed to coax the vault's combination out of the manager with ease. While Zed kept an eye on the monitors in the control room, Klein and Hunt on the rear entrance, and Jean watching the hostages, Barlow and Malaki loaded up the loot. "If it comes down to it, we can use the explosives as a distraction to get the hell out of here." he explained. "Thanks for making our jobs a little easier." He ruffled the hair of the manager.

"So remain calm, keep your hands and legs inside the restraints at all times. You'll live to see tomorrow." Jean assured the hostages.

"Unless the cops start busting in here." said a voice in the corner. It was Paul, the security guard. "They'll kill you all on sight."

"I'm sorry, I forgot to mention, keeping your mouths shut." snapped Jean.

"You can't fool me, I know it's you Terry." The staff were shocked, while the customers had no idea what they were talking about. "You think a clown mask is gonna hide that voice? You still sound like a jackass."

"Well, pardon me, **_Paul_**. But hey, here's a newsflash: why would I work here under my real name?" Paul's smugness was short-lived as Jean rounded on him. "I'd rather be a jackass than a dumbass any day, Paul. And while you're still trying to scrounge up enough cash to buy peanuts, I'll be sitting on a beach, not thinking about you at all because I'll be getting my balls licked without any help from a dog or peanut butter." He flicked Paul's nose. "You're a sick man, Paul. I've seen the video."

The phone in the manager's office began to ring. "That the cops already?" asked Malaki.

"It's Paul's wife: the dog." joked Jean. Barlow entered the office and closed the door.

"Hello?"

 _"This is Grogan. I know who you are."_ explained the Commissioner. _"Don't talk, just listen. There are service tunnels directly under the bank that can be accessed through one of the maintenance rooms. Follow it out to the canal and you'll be home free. I've already sorted out the rest with your boss. Good luck."_ The line went dead. Barlow couldn't believe his luck. This day was getting better and better.

"Five minutes. We're moving out." he announced as he returned to the main hall.

"Where to?" asked Malaki as she and Jean closed in around him. "Not out there, I hope."

"Maintenance room, do you know where it is?" Barlow asked Jean.

"Yeah, just down the hall on the left."

"There's tunnels under the building we can use to escape. Pass it on to Naughty and Sly, then Naughty can pass it on to Fiddler upstairs. I don't want this on the radio."

"Gotcha" nodded Jean, hurrying out the back door while Malaki and Barlow continued packing bags. He arrived at the back door to find Hunt and Klein keeping guard in silence. "We're leaving in five minutes through the maintenance tunnels. Pass it on to Fiddler." he said to Klein before heading back to the main hall.

"You ready to get wet, skinny man?" Klein smiled under her mask.

"Why must you call me that?" Hunt rolled his eyes.

"I like annoying you. It's fun." Klein admitted, skipping upstairs. For the moment, Hunt was alone. He didn't have much time. He quickly dialled a number on the service phone near the door.

"Branden." said the Lieutenant. "Is this information accurate? Yes sir. They won't. Personally." He hung up. "We've got our orders. Follow me." he commanded the squad who began to make their move down a nearby alley.

This didn't go entirely unnoticed, as Grogan had been keeping an eye on Branden's team as often as he could. He knew there was an entrance to the tunnels down that alley, so it was clear that a trap was in wait for Jack's gang. He dialled the number for the bank again, but there was no answer. Peering into the bank from a distance, the robbers appeared to have left their posts.

He dialled a second number. "Jack, we have a situation."

 _"Dad?"_ answered his daughter.

"Marybeth? What are you doing there?" he exclaimed, keeping his voice low.

 _"I'm old enough to drink! Why doesn't anyone want to talk to me anymore?!"_

"Get Jack on the phone right now!"

The receiver exchanged hands.

 _"What is it?"_ asked Jack.

Meanwhile, Klein stuck her head inside the dark underground corridor, shining her flashlight around. It seemed deserted to her. "All clear."

"Right. I'll head down first, then two at a time. Who'll bring up the rear?" asked Barlow.

"I've got backs." Hunt volunteered. "The sooner we get out, the better.

"No arguments from me." seconded Jean.

Barlow was held by Malaki and Jean who began lowering him down into the tunnel. But before his feet could touch the ground, a torch shone on him.

"Up! Back up!" he yelled. A few gunshots were let off as his body was pulled upwards. He could feel the bullets whizz by his stomach and legs. It was pure luck he made it up with only a few scratches, but the miracle was short lived as gunfire burst from the opening. Barlow and Klein quickly pushed the cover back over the hole. Everything went silent as the realisation they were trapped set in.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. I would once again like to apologise with how bad I am keeping a consistent release date for this story's chapter updates, but I hope improved writing, themes, and more experience with storytelling in general makes up for that con.**

 **As usual, if you have any feedback, please feel free to leave it as I'm more than happy to hear what you think, positive or negative. It means a lot to have that information so I can learn to evolve as a writer. I'll be seeing you all again for the next part in this story, hopefully sooner rather than later.**


End file.
